Gerald swallowed, the tea burning its way down his throat. “I suppose.” His mother referred to every woman under the age of thirty as a lovely girl. Trouble was, this time she echoed his own thoughts.
“Intelligent, compassionate, thoughtful.” She ticked off a few more compliments before leaning forward and squeezing his arm. “And she needs a good man.”
“Don’t start, Mother. Please.” Gerald pushed up from the chair. “I won’t have any of your matchmaking.”
“A mother’s prerogative.” Her gray eyes twinkled. “I’ve been praying for the perfect woman for you since you were a tyke. I was starting to wonder if God had forgotten.”
He headed for the stairs, feet dragging with exhaustion. “The perfect woman? I highly doubt such a female exists. And if she did, I’m not sure I would desire to be around her.”
* * *
Ruby leaned against the closed bedroom door, chilled by the intensity of the man’s gaze. It had been some time since she’d been the subject of such a bold stare. I didn’t come to San Francisco seeking romance.
Hurrying over to the dressing table, she collapsed onto the stool. The mirrored reflection revealed the truth. Her hair, springing loose from the cock-eyed pompadour frame, resembled an abandoned bird nest after a windstorm—the perfect complement to the flaming-red scratch outlining her brow. Ruby buried her face in her arms. Gerald hadn’t been gazing in admiration. It must have been something more akin to horror.
9
Standing before the nurses’ mirror, Ruby tied the massive apron over her green skirt and pinned on the crisp white cap. She ran a finger along the cap’s steep edge. It had been five years since she’d last worn it. Hopefully, it didn’t look outdated compared to the smart ones sported by the nursing students from Cooper College. Ruby turned her chin to the side, surveying her reflection. A week into her stay, Ruby’s heart still trembled at every new experience. She ran a quick hand over the apron, smoothing away the last wrinkle.
Ruby hurried down the hospital corridor, her high-button shoes tapping against the sparkling tile floor. She entered the cancer wing and caught Gerald’s gaze as he spoke with a patient at the far end of the room. He raised his hand in greeting.
Seven of the eight narrow beds were occupied. The pungent odors of ammonia and iodine tickled her nose, carrying her back to days long past. Days before Charlie. She made a quick survey of each patient she passed, stopping just short of where Gerald was speaking with a middle-aged woman. Ruby hung back, not wishing to interrupt and taking the moment to observe the doctor at work.
He leaned over the bed, talking to the woman in soft tones, a smile lifting the corners of his lips. Gerald’s clenched hand and squared shoulders contradicted his otherwise calm demeanor. After several moments, he stood upright and gestured for her to join him at the bedside. “It’s all right, Ruby—Nurse Marshall. Come meet one of my favorite patients.”
Bright eyes stared up at her from a sunken, pale face. She struggled to sit upright. “You’re Ruby? Dr. King’s sister?”
Ruby drew close. “Yes. I’m going to be assisting for a time.”
Gerald stepped back, scribbling on a clipboard. “Nurse, this is Miss Delia Feinstein.”
The dark-haired woman pulled the sheets high up over her slight frame. “Call me Dee, honey. Everyone does.” She glanced over at Gerald. “Everyone except the doctors, anyway. They insist on this ridiculous formality. I think they’re afraid of getting attached.”
Gerald tucked the clipboard under his arm and frowned. “Miss Feinstein, you know better.”
Dee pulled at her long black braid, twiddling it between her fingers, as she smiled up at Ruby. “Nah, it’s because they’re bachelors, right, Nurse? If one of them called me by my first name, they might fall in love and have to marry me.” She chortled, lifting a hand to cover her lips. “And no one would marry someone with cancer, after all.”
Gerald shook his head. “You’d want to snare a better man than me. Ask Nurse Marshall here—she all but called me a scoundrel two days ago after a little misunderstanding with a cable car.” He grinned, stepping away to check on a patient two beds further down the row.
Dee’s giggles gave way to a couple of wheezing coughs.
Ruby fought the urge to explain the doctor’s comments. With a sigh, she stepped to the woman’s side and adjusted the pillows to better support her fragile frame.
“Ah, so much better. Thank you, Nurse Marshall.”
Ruby touched her shoulder. “If we’re going to be on a first-name basis, I think you should call me Ruby.”
Dee’s smile widened. “Now this is what I mean. I need friends about me, not professionals who hold me at an arm’s length because I’m ill.” Her rheumy eyes followed the doctor around the room. “He’s a pleasant fellow. I wouldn’t tease him so badly if he weren’t such a nice man.”
“Yes, he is.”
Dee cackled her way into another coughing spasm. “Oh, so that’s how it is?”
Ruby drew back. “No, I—”
“Oh, don’t worry, honey. I’m just joshing you. Though I wouldn’t blame you if you had eyes for him.” The woman shook her head slowly. “He and Dr. King are such handsome gentlemen. Almost makes it worth the relapse, just to come in here to see them.”
Ruby’s gaze drifted back to Gerald. She lifted a hand to her face, to cool the flush creeping across her cheeks. “My brother would be embarrassed to hear you speak of him in this fashion.”
Shifting in the bed, Dee grunted. “Dr. King? Ah, he’s used to me. Besides, he’s off the auction block now.” She heaved another sigh. “A shame.”
Ruby scrambled for another subject, anything to return them to safe ground. “How long have you been ill, Dee?”
“Off and on for several months now. Usually I come in for a treatment and head home.” She grimaced and touched her belly through the blanket. “Dr. King says I might be in for good, this time. It’s just my elderly mama and me at home, and it’s hard for her to play nurse.” She looked down at her hands, her voice growing low. “And the treatments aren’t working like they did at first.”
Ruby pulled a chair by the bedside. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
A gleam crept into Dee’s dark eyes. “No, don’t be. Those X-rays are like magic. I was so sick when I first got here, my ma was sure I was dying. But Dr. King and Dr. Larkspur, they started putting me under the X-ray machine, and—” She leaned back against the bed. “Well, it’s my own little miracle. In a couple of weeks, I was feeling like myself again. Went back to work, even, and taking care of my nieces and nephew. It was so good to feel alive again.”
Ruby tucked her fingers under her legs and relaxed against the chair as she listened to the woman talk. Until she familiarized herself with the hospital routines, a listening ear might be the best medicine she could provide.
“They’ll lick this cancer thing. You watch. They already got it on the run.” Dee turned toward the window and stared out at the gray fog settling over the city. “But I don’t think I can hold out long enough for it.” Her gaze lowered. “Time is a precious gift. Don’t ever forget, honey.”
* * *
Gerald strolled back to the office, two clipboards clamped under his arm. Dee Feinstein’s bawdy sense of humor usually brought a smile to his face, but today he wanted nothing of it. After a short remission, she’d shown up at the hospital last week in worse condition than he’d ever seen her. An aching hole grew in his chest, and he pressed knuckles against his sternum to ease the pressure.
Ruby’s presence in the wing only made the situation more difficult to bear. How would this bright-eyed young woman handle dying patients? Hadn’t she experienced enough loss in her life?
Over the past few days, he’d found his mind wandering back to the outspoken redhead more often than he cared to admit. Every time he turned around at home, she was there. And now they had a date to go driving on Sunday. Not a date. An appointment.
He rounded the corner
and let himself into the office only to discover Robert reclining in the chair with his feet propped on the desk, a half-dozen open books scattered haphazardly across the blotter.
A cloud descended on Gerald as he pulled the door shut. He needed five minutes alone to gather his thoughts. “What are you working on?”
Robert lifted his head, dark circles framing his eyes. “And a good morning to you, too.”
Gerald took a deep breath. “Sorry. Good morning.”
“You’ve been as uptight as a cornered skunk the past few weeks.” He set the book on his lap. “Is it getting to be too much for you?”
“What exactly—the long hours, the limited funds, or the dying patients?” The sour note in his voice sent a quiver through his stomach. When had he become such a fatalist?
Robert lowered his feet to the floor. “Actually, I meant the extra houseguests.”
Gerald sank onto the corner of the desk. “Oh.”
His friend shook his head. “Maybe you need to take a day off. Get out of the city for a while.”
“Sunday.” Gerald placed the clipboards on top of Robert’s books.
“Oh, yes. About that . . .” Robert stood and gathered the books into a stack, clearing the desk. “I can’t understand why you offered yourself up for the gallows.”
Gerald claimed the chair. “What do you mean?”
Robert crossed both arms across his chest. “Teaching my sister how to drive? You’ve met Ruby. It’ll be a nightmare.”
“I’ve spent the last two years with you. I think I can handle her.” Gerald ran his hands down his lab coat to smooth the wrinkles, grimacing as his sore palm brushed the buttons.
His partner frowned. “The burn still bothering you?”
“Not much.” Gerald tucked it under his opposite arm.
“Let’s see.” Robert held out a hand, palm up.
Gerald scooted the chair back, imagining other quiet nooks in the hospital where he could find peace. Like the chapel, perhaps. “It’s unnecessary. I don’t need a consult, thank you.”
“Give it here.” Robert tapped his foot.
Gerald stood with a sigh. Uncurling his fingers, he extended his hand. Sweat broke out under his collar.
“You’re worse than a child waiting for a smallpox jab.” His friend gripped his hand and stared down at it, his brows pinching together. “How long has it been like this?”
A chill washed over Gerald’s skin. Longer than it should. “A few months.”
Robert’s brown-eyed gaze swept upward as his grasp tightened. “Have you shown anyone else?”
“Perhaps I should have Lawrence look at it.”
“You should. But you won’t. So we’re going to do this now. Sit.”
Gerald sank into the chair with a grunt. “When did you get so demanding?”
“I learned from the best.” Robert moved the lamp to the edge of the table and retrieved a magnifier and a pair of forceps from the cabinet on the wall. He gestured for Gerald to lay his palm on the desk. Gazing through the magnifier, he probed at the wound. “Does it hurt much?”
“Not really. It itches sometimes.”
“Have you taken a sample? Run it under the microscope?”
Gerald shook his head.
Robert perched on the edge of the desk with a set jaw. “You know better than to ignore this. We’ve seen too much in our business to stick our heads in the sand when something’s going haywire. It might be a nagging infection. Contact dermatitis, psoriasis, scabies . . .” Robert ran a hand across his eyes. “Dyshidrotic eczema. Cellulitis. Granuloma annulare. Tinea corporis.”
“Ringworm?” Gerald snorted. “I don’t think so. You’re grasping.”
Robert shoved the lamp back to its original position. “Yes, and I’ll continue until I find a satisfactory answer. Because I don’t like the alternatives, and neither do you.”
Gerald glanced at the stack of books on the desk, eyeing the black cover emblazoned with gold letters, Cancer and Cancer Symptoms. “If it’s not gone in a week, I’ll run some tests. Likely as not, it’s simple X-ray dermatitis.”
His partner nodded. “You’re probably right. I’m surprised we haven’t seen more of it, as often as we’re exposed. I’ve heard methylene blue in an alkaline solution is a good treatment.”
Gerald stared down at the stubborn lesion. Blue hands. Just what I need.
10
Ruby positioned the new narrow-brimmed hat over her hair and inserted three hatpins to ensure it would remain fastened. With a nod to her reflection, she rose from the dressing table and retrieved a pink-flowered scarf from the bureau. A perfect match to her skirt, she wound the sheath of silk over the hat twice before securing it under her chin with a tight knot, the free ends draping down the front of her lace blouse. She could almost hear her mother’s voice, “Redheads shouldn’t wear pink, dear.”
Abby ducked her head inside the bedroom. “Are you ready? The men are waiting downstairs.” The younger woman’s freckled cheeks flushed bright with excitement. “Can you believe this beautiful weather?”
“I’m coming.” Ruby reached for a monogrammed handkerchief and tucked the tiny square into the top edge of her skirt. She tugged at the waistband, frowning as the fabric puckered. Abby had helped with her corset laces, but the girl refused to pull the garment as snug as Ruby desired. Ruby ran gloved hands over her hips to smooth the wrinkles.
A lump rose in her throat as she imagined climbing into the waiting automobile. Why had she agreed to this outing? She fiddled with the scarf as her stomach churned. “I’ll be right down.” She opened the small jewelry box she kept on the dresser. Perhaps a necklace would provide the courage she lacked.
Abby stepped into the room, smile fading. “You don’t need to do this. If you’re frightened of automobiles, why would you learn to drive?”
Ruby swallowed hard and straightened her shoulders, snapping the box closed. “It’s not automobiles I fear. It’s the men who control them.” She turned to face her brother’s fiancée. “I’m ready.”
* * *
Gerald brushed the powdered sugar from his fingers to hide the evidence. The undeclared culinary contest raging in his home was having unintended consequences. Etiquette demanded he consume copious amounts of baked goods in order to keep both his mother and his cousin Clara contented, and Gerald was never one to bypass good manners. Especially when they involved dessert.
Ruby’s dachshund whined, placing his stubby front legs against the cabinet and pushing his long snout up toward the wooden countertop.
“Don’t give me away.” Gerald nudged the dog back to the floor with the toe of his shoe. “And shouldn’t you be outside like a normal dog?”
The pup dropped back to all four paws, staring up at him with chocolate-brown eyes.
“You wouldn’t like it anyway.” Gerald broke off a small scrap of bacon left from breakfast. “Here, try this.”
The dog gulped it down without bothering to chew, turning its nose upward as if in search of more.
Robert strode in to the kitchen, settling a charcoal-colored derby on his head. “Have you seen Abby or Ruby?”
Gerald brushed knuckles over his lip to remove any hint of lingering sugar. “Abby went up a moment ago to retrieve your sister.”
“Could be a while, then.” His friend lifted the edge of the cake cover. “Is this tonight’s pièce de résistance?”
“Last night’s. You missed it. Lemon cake with whipped cream à la Clara.”
Robert swiped a crumbling corner and guided the morsel to his mouth. “I think she’s winning.”
“Don’t let my mother hear you say that. She’s already baked a German chocolate cake for this evening. She thinks she’s appealing to Herman’s heritage.”
Gerald turned as the two women entered the room, little Davy clinging to his sister’s hand. After a quick glance, Gerald guided his gaze back to the floor. He must learn not to stare like a schoolboy.
The dog ran over and danced aro
und their feet. Davy dropped to the floor and pulled the dog into his lap.
With a laugh, Abby hurried to Robert’s side. “You shouldn’t ruin your appetite. Mama packed a picnic for our adventure.”
Gerald chuckled. “And my mother added a few items.”
Robert patted his stomach. “I love this family.”
“And they adore you.” Abby squeezed Robert’s arm.
Gerald turned his attention to Ruby. “Are you ready for your first lesson? Looks as if you’re prepared for an expedition.”
Skin pale, Ruby nodded. “I’m quite looking forward to it. Though I didn’t expect an audience for my little escapade.”
Davy jumped up. “I’m coming too, right?”
Robert laughed, lifting the boy and hoisting him onto his back. “Of course you are. We need someone to help us eat all those cookies.” He headed toward the door. “Don’t worry, Sis. Abby, Davy, and I will stay out of the way. We’ll find a scenic meadow for our picnic and then turn you and Gerald loose.”
Ruby frowned. “Is it appropriate? I mean, for the two of you to be . . .” She blushed. “Without a chaperone? I’m not sure a little boy qualifies for such a task.”
Gerald fought to keep from smiling. For such a young widow, Ruby Marshall clucked like a mother hen. Too bad she didn’t have children of her own to fuss over.
“I don’t wish to create difficulties, but one cannot be too careful about appearances.” Ruby folded her hands.
Gerald buttoned his coat. “Considering Robert and Abby live in the same household, if tongues were going to wag, they’d have begun long before now.”
Abby nodded. “And since the quake—most of that nonsense has been overlooked.”
Ruby straightened, her head drawn back. “Nonsense?”
“I think it’s time we were on our way.” Gerald cleared his throat. He leaned toward Ruby. “We’ll stay close at hand, I promise. I don’t intend to leave the pair of them alone for long.” Then we’d be alone, as well.
The young woman pressed her lips into a line and followed Abby out the kitchen door.
Gerald hefted the basket onto his arm, catching a whiff of the delectable fragrances emanating from its depths.
Beyond the Ashes Page 7
